


Let Us Love Winter

by hamderson



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, Sickfic, slight angst, there's a lot of cuddling okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamderson/pseuds/hamderson
Summary: A collection of Winter themed prompts stored conveniently in one location.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 46
Kudos: 27





	1. Decorating

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! This is my first foray into fic in a long time and my first post on AO3. I would like to pre-apologize for the rough edges that will probably show up throughout these stories, but I figured to get me back into the thick of things this was the way to go. 
> 
> Just a reminder that this isn't a cohesive story at all, but rather a collection of individual prompts that all just happen to be Winter-themed. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

Winter has always been Holden's favorite season. When he was younger, he never understood why all of the adults in his life were so infatuated with Fall when Winter was exactly the same but with the added bonus of Christmas.

Growing up, Christmas wasn't just a December event in his house. Every year on Halloween, after he was finished collecting his candy and had changed out of his costume, he and his parents would spend the evening pulling out boxes upon boxes of decorations and turning their house into a veritable wonderland.

And if at the end of the night Holden's stash of candy was down to a few pieces, well, no one needed to know that.

Now that he's older, he maintains the tradition and spends his Halloween putting up his decorations in between trips to the door to hand out candy to the few kids who live in his building.

Debbie thought it was weird, putting up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving, or even celebrating at all. It's "commercial" and "just a repurposed pagan holiday anyways, Holden." He didn't respond to her ire, just rolled his eyes and reminded her that they didn't have to spend time at his apartment if she didn't like it. She didn't bring it up again and it ended up being just another reason for their split shortly thereafter.

Bill found out about the tradition when he and Nancy were still clinging to marriage before Atlanta and using traditional family outings to try and strengthen their relationship. They'd brought Brian over while trick-or-treating and Holden, thinking he'd already had all the kids in his building stop by, had already changed into a more comfortable outfit and opened the door in his red flannel pants and old Christmas sweater.

"Oh, hello," he says. "Did I know you were coming by?"

"No, no," Nancy answers, putting a protective hand on Brian's head. "We were just going around the neighborhood with Brian and thought we'd stop by." She bends down to speak quietly in her son's ear while Bill hangs uncomfortably in the back of the group. Brian ducks his head shyly as he holds out his bucket and Holden barely hears the 'trick or treat' that accompanies the gesture.

"Uh," he says eloquently, turning to look for the bowl of candy he'd had earlier. He spies it off to the side next to a box of ornaments and grabs it quickly. "Right. Happy Halloween, Brian." He crouches down in front of the child, holding the bowl out and letting him rifle through it.

"Oh, so you are aware of which holiday it is?" Bill asks, then shrugs at Nancy's hushed 'Bill!' Holden, for his part, just shoots him a bland look, entirely unimpressed.

"Yes, I'm aware," he answers, finally just tipping the remaining candy into Brian's bucket and standing again. There wasn't that much left anyways. "My family has always put out our Christmas decorations on Halloween. It's tradition."

"I just wasn't sure with the tree and the pajamas, you know?"

Feeling the heat rush to his face, Holden clears his throat and looks behind him at the tree in question. He hadn't had a chance to fluff it out before the doorbell rang and even he can admit it isn't his best work just yet. He catches the amusement in Bill's eyes as he turns back to the door and huffs out a small laugh.

"Are you allowed to make fun of me in my own house?" he asks, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"We aren't technically in your house. So, yes. I'd say I absolutely am."

Shaking his head, Holden asks if they'd like to come in for a minute. Nancy graciously accepts, and Holden closes the door behind them before heading to the kitchen for some drinks.

"I'm sorry about the mess," he calls out, grabbing some glasses and a bottle of wine. "I wasn't actually expecting company tonight."

Settling back down on the floor next to the tree, Holden sets his glass aside and grabs a tangle of lights from one of the boxes. He never has figured out how to store them in a way that prevents him from having to detangle them the next year.

They chat for a bit while he works, making their way through most of the bottle of wine before he manages to get the lights fixed in a way that he can work with them when he needs to before he turns his attention back to the tree.

"So you really celebrate for two months, Holden?" Nancy asks, helping Brian put his candy back in his bucket from where he'd dumped it out to sort through.

"I would celebrate for twelve months if it were socially acceptable. Christmas was the only time of the year where the whole family was together. My father traveled a lot for work, but he'd always be stateside from about the middle of October through December, so we tried to stretch the festivities as much as possible," he explains, working his way through the branches to get as much volume out of them as possible.

"So it was just you and your mom most of the year? Was that lonely?"

"Sometimes," he admits softly. "But it wasn't that bad. I had some cousins in the same area and Mom did her best to make the most of the extra time we had together." He finishes up with the tree and grabs the string of lights again, setting to work draping them along the now full tree. "She tried to teach me everything I'd ever need to know to get by on my own. The proper ways to clean a house and how to cook. She said I should never have to rely on my partner to take care of me." He peaks around the tree to look at his guests. "She’s very progressive, but I have to admit it is nice to not have to eat takeout every night.

Nancy turns pointedly to Bill, an eyebrow raised as he talks and Holden thinks maybe he should stop. "You should pay attention, Bill. It would be nice if you cooked once in a while, and I'm not talking about using the grill."

"You enjoy my grilling," he counters.

"Yes, but not every time you cook something. Smoke shouldn't be a main flavor of your meal."

"She's right," Holden says as he connects another strand of lights and continues working them into the branches.

"Shut up, Holden," Bill grouses as he drains his glass of wine and sets it aside before looking at his watch. "We should get going. It's past time for Brian to be in bed."

"You just don't want us to gang up on you," Nancy replies, but dutifully rises and starts corralling Brian towards the door. Bill takes their glasses to the kitchen to deposit them into the sink then joins the rest of them by the door.

"Thank you for letting us crash your decorating," Nancy's saying, her hand already grasping Brian's as Holden opens the door.

"Thanks for coming by. It's usually just me and the Christmas music. Conversation was a nice change." Bill shakes his head and helps to usher his family out of Holden's apartment. As he makes his way out of the door, he spies something sitting off to the side he hadn't noticed before and stops short, confused.

"Holden," he says slowly, turning to look at his partner. "Why do you have chicken wire?"

Holden looks over at the bundle resting innocently against his wall in amusement. "Trade secret," he says, shrugging as he ushers Bill the rest of the way into the hallway. "Have a good night."

Closing the door on Bill's still bewildered face, Holden laughs softly and turns back around, knowing full well that's going to drive his partner absolutely insane.

\---

Years later Bill learns exactly what the chicken wire is for. It's their first holiday season together and Brian is with Nancy and her new fiancé for Halloween that year. Bill's situated on the couch with a beer, watching Holden sort through the boxes he'd helped him get out with a new fondness. The relationship had come as a surprise, especially after they’d hit rock bottom in the wake of Atlanta. Holden was so sure that the feelings he harbored for his partner would always be one-sided; had even intended to carry them with him through a department transfer when it seemed like even friendship was out of reach for them. They’d come back together though, somehow, and when Bill sat him down to dinner one night in March and admitted his own feelings, Holden had been floored.

All in all, it's the easiest relationship he's ever had, not that he's surprised by that. They’d learned over the years that they worked well together and now they're realizing they compliment each other in ways outside of the office as well. Holden, of course, does most of the cleaning and the cooking, but he's slowly incorporating Bill into the prep work and pointedly ignoring his grumbling about that.

Now he'll get to teach him all about appreciating Winter and Christmas. Holden doesn't think he could be happier.

"So," Bill says, startling Holden from his thoughts. "You're finally letting me in on that 'trade secret,' right?"

"What?" he asks, having forgotten the conversation from years earlier.

"The chicken wire. I have wracked my brain trying to figure out what you could possibly use chicken wire for in decorating and I've got nothing. The tree is sturdy enough without the extra support and you don't have a village-"

"Oh! Can we start one? I've always wanted to add a village," Holden interrupts and Bill huffs, standing and coming to pull Holden around to face him.

"Hush," he says, bracing his hands on his boyfriend's shoulders. "Put me out of my misery here, Holden. What the hell is it for?"

Holden laughs, reaching his hands up to Bill's face and pulling him down into a quick kiss.

"Here," he says, breaking away and grabbing the offending item, as well as their coats and shoes. "We can start with this then. Put those on." He puts his own coat on as he slips his feet into his shoes and moves toward the door that leads out to his terrace. "Grab the box labeled terrace on your way out here."

"You're bossy when you decorate," Bill says, but does as he's told anyway. Holden ignores him, already unbinding the chicken wire and separating the pre-cut pieces. He waits for Bill to join him outside before starting to attach the pieces to the hooks he's put into the wood of the door frame. There are additional hooks reinforced into the stone façade of his building, Bill notices.

"You're going to lose your deposit for that," he points out, but Holden just shrugs it off.

"I'll fill the holes when I move out and they'll be none the wiser. Besides, it's been almost ten years and I don't need that money anymore." Once the door is framed he moves to the ledge overlooking the street and does the same thing, securing the framework to the concrete easily as Bill watches.

Digging back into the box of decorations, Holden retrieves the strings of lights and garland first, setting them out on the small table he has out there. He also sets a spool of something next to them that Bill picks up to inspect.

"Crafting wire?" he asks, receiving only a hum of acknowledgment in return, Holden having resumed rooting through the box. He emerges a few moments later, scissors held victoriously in hand.

"Crafting wire," he confirms. He places the scissors and wire in front of Bill, who has since taken a seat at the table, before grabbing some of the garland and settling himself on the floor of the terrace by one side of the door. "I usually have to do this by myself, so you being here is actually going to be a huge help. Can you cut that wire into two inch pieces?"

"Do I get a ruler?"

Holden turns to glare at him.

"What?" Bill says, picking up the scissors. "I know how particular you are."

Holden's gaze softens and he turns back to his work. "Approximately two inches is fine, Bill. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he responds in kind, cutting a few pieces quickly and passing it over. "Brat."

They work quickly, Holden deftly attaching the garland and then the lights to the previously installed framework. At one point he drags a chair over to stand on and Bill moves to stand behind him, just in case.

"You always did this by yourself?" He has one hand braced on Holden's lower back, offering additional support as the other man stretches to reach the top of the chicken wire. Laughing, Holden falls back to the flats of his feet and Bill breathes a bit easier.

"It's not that far of a fall, Bill. Besides, I've only ever fallen once."

"Was that the year you came in limping the day after Halloween?"

"I have no idea what you are referring to," Holden says, jumping down from the chair and moving to dig through the box some more, his back to Bill. "Come on, let's finish with this and then we can move on to the ornaments."

"Ornaments? Christ, you put a lot of work into this for one person."

Holden pauses, a strand of lights hanging from his neck and garland thrown over one shoulder. He looks down at the box in front of him, suddenly thoughtful, and Bill wonders if maybe he's said something wrong.

"I know I don't tend to bother with how things usually look. I mean, you've seen my apartment; there's barely enough furniture inside to cover the necessities," Holden says, picking up one of the ornaments and passing it back and forth in his hands, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Christmas was always... It was the best time of the year. It was the only time we were all together and I just feel like as long as I'm putting the decorations up and I know they're doing the same thing it's, I don't know, it's almost like we're still doing it together." He grimaces, hanging his head and shaking it ruefully. "That's dumb, huh?"

Crossing the few feet that separates them in silence, Bill turns Holden to face him, taking the ornament from his grasp and depositing it gently back in the box. He reels Holden into his chest, wrapping his arms securely around his shoulders and tilting his head down to press a kiss to the crown of his lover's head. He feels Holden return the embrace, settling into him with a sigh.

"It's not dumb," he says, his face still pressed into Holden's hair, the soft strands tickling his chin. "It's something you enjoy and it makes you feel connected to the people you love. That's anything but dumb, Holden."

"You're right, I know. It just seems really cheesy when I try and explain it."

"I didn't say it wasn't cheesy."

Holden scoffs, affronted. "Now, see. We were having a nice moment and what you've done is ruin it." He pulls away slightly, but Bill doesn't let him get too far before he's framing his face and pulling him back in.

"It can still be a nice moment," he whispers before pressing his lips to Holden's, one hand slipping behind his head to tangle in the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. Holden allows it for a while before pulling away.

"Not to ruin things myself," he says, eyes shining with mirth, "but we still have a lot of work to do and we haven't even started on the inside yet."

Groaning, Bill drops his head to rest on Holden's shoulder, his hands framing the other's hips. "You're a damn tease, Ford."

Laughing, Holden disentangles himself fully, patting Bill's chest in sympathy. "Just think, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can have more nice moments."

"You're lucky I like you," he grumbles, moving back to the table and getting back to work with the crafting wire. Holden just grins at him.

Hours later sees them curled up on the couch, Holden’s legs thrown over Bill’s and a red knit sweater tucked around his shoulders. He’s dozing lightly, eyes half-lidded against the glow of the television. Bill rubs a palm gently over one of his shins, the motion furthering his relaxed state.

Surveying the room, Bill’s eyes catch on the tree nestled into the corner, soft white lights bouncing off the ornaments and sending misshapen shadows dancing along the walls. The bright green of the garland framing the entryways into the kitchen and hallway. The white stockings hanging gently from the television stand that had also been adorned with a cluster of candles. Bill has to admit that it looks nice.

"Hey," he says softly, fingers jostling Holden's leg. He waits for blue eyes to meet his own before continuing. "It looks good in here."

"Thank you," Holden says. He stifles a yawn. "Thanks for helping me."

"You're welcome." They fall silent again, Bill's attention refocusing on the television and the  _ Three's Company _ rerun currently playing. Watching until his own eyes grow heavy, Bill finally turns it off and works on rousing Holden long enough to get in bed.

He gets them settled under the covers, Holden's back to Bill's front, and is reaching over to turn off the lamp when Holden speaks.

"Bill? You never answered me about the village."

Shushing him, Bill settles back down, pressing his face into Holden's neck and breathing in. "Go to sleep, Holden. We'll talk about it tomorrow," he finally answers, already wondering how much they’re going to spend on even more Christmas decorations. Laying there, listening to Holden's breaths even out as he descends into a well earned sleep, Bill thinks it might be worth it.


	2. Snow

Holden wakes slowly, blinking blearily into the darkness of the hotel room. He's curled up on his side, an arm thrown over Bill's chest and his head resting comfortably in the crook of the shoulder beneath him. The soft snorts of snores follow him as he detangles himself from his curled position, Bill shifting slightly to follow the warmth before settling again. Standing, he stretches his arms above his head, letting out a contented sigh as sleep-tensed muscles loosen. Picking his way around the bed, he heads toward the bathroom to relieve his aching bladder.

He emerges a few moments later, met with the bright white of headlights cutting across the window. Recoiling slightly at the unexpected brightness, he brings the heels of his hands up to rub the sting and sleep from his eyes as he makes his way back across the room. Rounding the bed a second time, he catches the flit of movement outside the window and forgoes the bed to pull the curtain back. His eyes pass over the puddles that have gathered in the parking lot, slush accumulating in mounds against the wheels of the cars gathered for the night.

Warm breaths fogging the pane before him, he tilts his head up to watch the soft flakes drift down from the swath of eternal black above. They weave across the expanse, ducking in and out of the glow of streetlights before fluttering delicately to the ground. Holden lets the tranquility of the moment wash over him as he watches, the stress of travel and the cases falling from his shoulders for just a moment and a shiver of peace washing over him despite the horrors he knows they’ll face come morning.

Bill shifts in the bed behind him and Holden turns to watch him sit up against the headboard, running rough hands down his face before turning to blink at Holden.

"What's wrong?" he asks, voice husky with sleep.

"Nothing. It's snowing." Holden turns back to the window, eyes once again catching on the drifting flakes.

"Snowing? It snows every year, Holden. Come back to bed."

"But it's the first snow, Bill. It's special."

Bill grumbles, sliding back down in the bed to go back to sleep. "Don't know what's so special about it, it'll be sludge by morning." Holden tunes him out. Maybe it's silly to be so entranced by the snow. Maybe Bill's right and it won't be the soft powder dusted along the ground that makes the world seem fresh and new again, but he doesn't care.

Taking a last long look out of the window, he closes the curtain and steps over to the bed to settle back into Bill’s side. Nestling down onto his pillow, he draws the arm that Bill throws over him close, the warmth of him chasing away the remnants of chill that had gathered on his skin. They have a long day ahead of them and the snow will still be there when they wake up.

In the morning, he pointedly ignores Bill as he gleefully points out the piles of dirty sludge that welcome them.

\---

Holden gets the snow he's waiting for three weeks later. It's later than they usually leave on a Friday, their time well spent in the office separating piles of requests into even more piles of importance and assigning their growing number of agents enough profiles to keep them busy for the next week. Walking out of the building side-by-side, they're met by a dusting of white powder adorning the trees and sidewalks. Holden perks up instantly, eyes alight at the crispness of the landscape that greets them. Bill, exasperated, shakes his head and guides him quickly to the car, wanting to get to the house before the roads become too slick.

"You're like a child," he says as he watches Holden almost press his face to the window to glimpse the white covered buildings lining their commute. "It looks the same every year."

"Let me enjoy the things I enjoy, Scrooge. You focus on driving."

He does, getting them home safely despite seeing a number of cars already sliding around on the roads. He makes a mental note to pull the chains out of the garage tonight, thankful that it's at least the weekend and they can wait to be put on until tomorrow. They're not great for the busy roads they use between the house and work, but they'll do until the plows can get out.

They head inside slowly, shoes sliding on the newly forming ice along the driveway and stairs as they do so.

"We need to salt these surfaces," Holden comments as Bill opens the door. Leaving their wet shoes and dripping coats in the closet, they head back into the bedroom to change into clothes more suitable for the work ahead of them. Holden, having already changed into some jeans, removes his tie and grabs one of the thicker knit sweaters he's left here over the past few weeks. He slips it on quickly over his work shirt and then remembers he doesn't have his boots.

"I don't have shoes," he says, looking at Bill where he's seated on the bed lacing up his own thick soles.

"What? I thought you brought them?"

"I did, but I took them back when we thought the storm was coming last week." Bill had been out of town and Holden, although comfortable enough to leave a number of things at the house, still felt weird staying there without him.

"I think I still have an old pair in the garage. They'll be a little big but if you double up on your socks they should work. You get our jackets and I'll go look for them," Bill says as he heads back down the hallway, veering off through the kitchen towards the garage door. Holden heads back to the entryway and grabs their thicker coats out of the closet, double checking that their gloves and toboggans are still in the pockets, before heading that way as well. They meet in the doorway, Holden passing Bill his coat and grabbing the shoes in return. They're still a little loose, despite the double socks, but they'll do for now.

Pulling his hat down over his ears, Holden grabs a cup of salt from one of the bags Bill has stashed for this occasion and heads outside. Bill's already started on the driveway, working around the cars diligently, so Holden turns to tackle the sidewalk and steps. They work quickly, knowing they need the fading sunlight to help cut through the thin layer of ice that’s already formed.

Bill finishes before Holden and heads back inside the garage to grab another cup of salt. He lets him know he's heading around back to work on the patio, getting a wave in return as he takes the corner around the side of the house. The snow is starting to come down faster now and Bill realizes he'll need the shovel to get the freshly fallen powder removed before he can salt the stones out back. With the weather worsening and the sunlight fading, he decides the patio can wait and turns to head back around to the garage only to be met with a wad of snow to the chest. Looking up, he catches sight of a grinning Holden already tossing another snowball in his direction and has to twist quickly to avoid it.

"Holden," he says warningly as the younger man bends to gather even more snow. "Stop that. We have work to do." He goes to corral his wayward lover inside, the cold now starting to seep through his coat. Holden backpedals, darting just out of reach as he throws his next handful.

"We can do that tomorrow. Have some fun, Bill, it's been a long week."

"Yes, which is why I want to be warm and inside."

Bill makes another attempt at grabbing Holden, lunging forward as he bends to scoop up more snow. He gets a hand on him, but Holden's more nimble frame is able to get away yet again, sending Bill stumbling for purchase. He feels another barrage of snow connect with his shoulders and gives up, scooping two armfuls of snow himself and turning back to launch them at Holden. He misses wildly and Holden bends at the waist, laughing.

"Is that the best you've got?" he taunts, tossing yet another snowball and nailing Bill in the chest again. "I expected better."

A full-on fight ensues, each pelting the other with snowball after snowball. Holden may be the more accurate of the two, but Bill's quickly building a stockpile of ammunition around the side of one of the patio’s planter boxes, using it as cover from further attack. He bides his time, peeking around and over to gauge the best time to move to an offensive attack. His window comes when Holden, apparently deciding it was in his own best interest to restock his supply of snowballs, crouches down near the far side of the patio. He’s far enough away that Bill would have to stand from his current position in order to hit him, but close enough that he thinks he’ll be able to hear any movement. He forgets that Bill has been in real combat before though, so stealth maneuvers are something he's familiar with. Surveying the space between them, Bill decides that he can sneak around the other side of the planter and come up on Holden's blind side with relative ease.

Making his move, Bill gathers an armful of snowballs and starts the slow journey into position. He emerges from behind the planter, losing the cover he’d had but moving quickly enough that it doesn’t end up mattering. Settling into his new position, he doesn't have to wait long before Holden looks up to scan the last place he knew Bill to be. From this angle, Bill can see the slight furrow to his brow when he doesn't see his hat peaking above the back of the planter box. Holden's eyes make a sweep of the yard before catching sight of Bill barely ten feet to his left and he stands with a gasped, 'No!'

Bill leaps up as well, already aiming his first ball and striding forward, landing a solid hit to Holden's chest. Holden's only got a few snowballs to throw in retaliation as he scrambles away, trying in vain to put some distance between himself and Bill's advancement. He loses his footing, the too-big boots proving to be his downfall as he tumbles to his backside in the snow. Sensing his opening, Bill drops his remaining snowballs and surges forward to grasp Holden by the ankle. He ignores the pleas for mercy as he clambers his way over his boyfriend to pin him down into the cold terrain.

Never one to give up easily, Holden is still grasping handfuls of snow to chuck at Bill, until Bill is eventually able to grab hold of his wrists and secure them on either side of his head. Their breaths mingle in the crisp November air as they stare at one another, chests heaving from exertion and delight.

Bill's eyes roam over Holden's flushed face. Snow sticking stubbornly to his lashes and brow, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold. Wayward curls have escaped from their meticulous style, some just starting to peak out from the toboggan atop his head. He grins up at Bill with laughter bubbling from between his lips and Bill can't help but lean down to press a gentle caress to them.

Letting out a soft sigh, Holden responds eagerly to Bill's ministrations; his mouth parting easily and tongue running along the seam of Bill's lips, seeking entrance. Instead of granting it, Bill pulls back, earning himself a grunt of frustration from the man beneath him. He pays him no mind.

"You look good like this," he says instead, nosing along Holden's jawline.

"What? Trapped in the snow?"

"No. Out of breath and rosy-cheeked. Completely at my mercy."

Breath stuttering in his chest, Holden’s mind goes blank for a moment as a coil of heat starts to burn low in his belly at the insinuation.

"Yeah?" he breathes out, arms flexing slightly against Bill's grip.

"Yeah," Bill answers, fingers tightening against the movement. "So now we're going to get up and we're going to go inside and then I'm going to see exactly how long it takes me to have you flushed and panting again. Does that sound good?"

Holden nods quickly, "Yes, that’s- yes."

Bill pulls back to see the semi-frantic look in Holden's eyes, pupils blown wide with need. Satisfied with himself, he takes another moment to press a much less chaste kiss to his boyfriend's lips, all but devouring the soft whimpers that escape him, and then releases him. They scramble out of the snow, brushing each other off as they round the corner of the house and back into the garage, tossing gloves, shoes, and coats into a pile on the concrete floor in their haste to get inside.

Slamming the door closed, Bill pulls Holden in close for another kiss, guiding him backwards through the kitchen and down the hallway. He reaches up to pull the toboggan from his head, tossing it carelessly behind him, and then tangles his fingers in the newly freed, sweat mussed curls.

"Still don't like the snow?" Holden asks through the barrage of kisses as they cross through the door into the bedroom.

"It might be growing on me," Bill answers, pushing Holden gently towards the bed as he kicks the door shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I, a Floridian, learned while writing this chapter:  
> 1) You don’t need a lot of salt to de-ice surfaces. Also, salt is really bad for concrete?  
> 2) Southerners call beanies toboggans, which I have always assumed was merely a fancy word for sled. I assumed I was a southerner, but now I am not so sure.  
> 3) Perhaps, as a Floridian, I should not write about snow.


	3. Food/Baking

Despite his best efforts, Holden's attempts at getting Bill to help out with the cooking more often than not fall flat. Bill maintains that his skills start and end at the grill with a spatula in hand and although Holden needles and cajoles he can't get Bill to relent on that stance. Holden is undeterred though, and takes every opportunity he can to pull Bill into the kitchen.

They're at his apartment this weekend, lazing on the couch with a couple of beers and a football game playing on low; more for Bill’s entertainment than anything. Holden's on his side, head pooled on Bill's lap and fingers stroking soft patterns across the skin of the arm resting across his shoulders. The curtains are pulled shut, the lights dimmed low enough that the glow of the television and twinkling of the tree lights cast delicate shadows over their faces. Relaxed as he is, it takes Holden a few moments to focus his eyes on the clock hanging over his television, and he has to bite back a groan as he realizes how late in the afternoon it has gotten. 

Stifling a yawn, Holden turns onto his back, stretching his legs out and rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to muster himself back to being fully alert. They'd wasted most of the day away like this and now he finds that he has to get busy if they’re going to eat dinner at a relatively normal hour. Bill looks down at him, his arm still slung securely across his chest. He quirks a fond smile down at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with contentment.

“Were you sleeping?” he asks, amused.

“Mm.. no. It was close though,” he admits, settling for a moment and looking up at his lover. Holden had often wondered if he’d ever have a relationship like this one. Debbie had been great, but she also challenged him in ways he was never really comfortable with, always off on some new activist movement or class. He had a hard time keeping up with her. The ease of this relationship is refreshing. Bill knows his limits and when to back off on pushing him. He sees Holden's missteps and helps to steady him. Holden likes to think he's doing the same, but he's never sure.

"I need to start dinner," he whispers, moving to sit up. Bill tightens his grip across his chest and Holden falls back, blinking up in confusion. "Bill?"

Still looking down at him, Bill shakes his head mischievously in response to Holden's unspoken inquiry.  "I'm actually pretty comfortable here. Let's just order in."

"We can't just order in," Holden argues, trying to get a grip to push at the arm pinning him in place. "The roast is already in the fridge. If I don't cook it tonight the meat'll spoil."

Bill still doesn't budge, just brings his beer up to take a sip as he turns his attention back to the television. Holden's mouth drops open in disbelief.

"Are you serious right now?" he laughs. It takes him another moment, but he finally manages to get a hand underneath Bill's arm and create enough room to wriggle out of the trap, having to contort a bit to make it out. "This is.. super.. mature.. Bill!" he says, grunting a bit with the effort to get away.

"What can I say, you make me feel like a kid again."

Holden stares at him blankly from his newly freed position. "Wow. That is the cheesiest thing you have ever said to me. I hate it." Bill snorts, eyes crinkling with laughter as Holden finally makes it off the couch. He ignores Bill's weak attempts to grab at him and finally skirts around the coffee table to head towards the kitchen.

"Get back here," he hears from behind him and looks over his shoulder to see a slight pout adorning Bill's face. Letting out a small giggle, he continues on. "You can always come and help me," he throws back as he flips the light in the kitchen on and grabs an apron off the hook by the fridge, throwing the loop over his head.

Tying the string securely around his hips, he sets to work gathering the things he'll need. The roast comes out of the fridge where it's been resting, along with bags of carrots and celery. The potatoes, onions, and tomatoes join the pile from the produce basket on the counter before Holden turns to the sink to wash his hands.

Bill slouches back onto the couch as Holden walks away, adjusting his eyes back to the game as the final minutes of the second quarter tick away into halftime. Beer finished and bored, he stands to go and grab another, stopping short of actually entering the kitchen so he can watch Holden at work.

"Are you going to help me or stare at me?" Holden asks, having noticed him when he turned to put the meat into the oven a few minutes later. He turns back to the counter, grabbing a knife from the block and pulling the already washed and peeled carrots towards him. Bill doesn't answer as he sets his empty bottle on the counter and walks up behind his lover, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to the tender skin of his neck. Holden jolts, not expecting the contact.

"You realize I have a literal knife in my hand, right? I could have cut myself."

"You're not nearly that skittish," Bill replies, wrapping his arms tighter around Holden, pulling him back into his chest and nosing behind his ear. Bringing his hands up to rest along Bill's, Holden tilts his head for more access even has his eyes track along the counter and the many vegetables he still has to prep.

"You're very tactile today. Feeling a little touch-starved?" he asks.

"I'm something starved," Bill mumbles into his skin. He drifts a hand down towards the hem of Holden's shirt and dips his fingers underneath to skim at the soft skin of his belly. Shivers streak white-hot down Holden's spine at the touch and he turns in Bill's embrace, his hands settling securely onto the broad chest before him as he regards the mix of hope in lust warring in Bill's eyes.

"How about you help me now," he says, compromising, "and once all the food is in the oven I can see about helping you."

Bill groans, dropping his forehead to press heavily into a shoulder. Holden pats him gently on the back, letting him weight his options.

"How about I just wash the dishes later?"

"Oh, Bill. It's cute that you think I would trust you to clean my dishes."

Bill straightens to scowl down at him in mock offense, the look of total umbrage on his face pulling a soft laugh from Holden. "My dishes are clean."

"You have a dishwasher; it doesn't count." He pushes Bill away and again ignores the pout that gets sent his way as he gestures toward the potatoes. "I need those quartered, please."

Bill grumbles but acquiesces, grabbing a knife of his own and the bowl of potatoes. They get the work done quickly and soon enough are back on the couch, Holden's knees digging into the cushions as he settles his weight onto Bill's lap. His hands rest on either side of Bill's neck, thumbs stroking the stubble that's accumulated along his jawline as their mouths meet. Bill's hands settle firmly on Holden's hips, fingers delving beneath the layers of fabric to grip at soft flesh in an effort to urge him even closer.

After, Holden's head is tucked into the side of Bill's neck, his own laying limply along the back of the couch. Their shirts lay in a heap on the floor beside them, pants pushed down as far as they could get them without having had to stand again. Bill's left hand rests against the exposed flesh of one hip, the other laying limply on the cushion beside them.

Closing his eyes, Holden waits for his breathing to even out as he comes down from his post-orgasmic high, his skin just starting to prickle with goosebumps from the chill in the air.

"Feeling better?" he asks, nuzzling closer to press a line of kisses along Bill's neck.

"Mmm." Bill rolls his head towards the sensation, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Chuckling, Holden pulls back slightly to regard the expression before dipping down to press a soft kiss to Bill's mouth, lingering for just a moment.

"You're pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

"You're not?"

"I didn't say that," Holden answers with a grin, nodding at Bill's blissed out position. He reaches down to right his pants before he curls back into the chest below him, intent on using the heat emanating from the body below him to chase away the shivers forming at the base of his spine.

They stay there for a while, their pulses slowing as the arousal fueled adrenaline fades from their systems. Eventually, Bill lifts his head, dislodging Holden from his resting place as he sniffs curiously at the air.

"Did we set a timer?" he asks, brow furrowed as he tries to remember.

"Hmm? Timer for wha- Oh, shit!" Holden slides off Bill's lap quickly, not bothering to grab for his shirt as he hurries back to the kitchen to check the oven. Bill follows at a slower pace, peeking past Holden's slumped shoulder to make out the blackened remnants of their dinner.

"So. Pizza or Chinese?"

\---

Bill has Brian the following weekend and decides that instead of letting his kid stay to himself the entire time, he'll try his hand at bonding. If that also plays into his desire to do something nice and unexpected for his boyfriend then so be it.

It's early in the afternoon on Sunday, just after they've had lunch, when Bill asks Brian if he'd like to help him make something in the kitchen. Brian doesn't answer, but he does glance towards the room in question, letting Bill know he's at least curious about what this could entail.

"You know Uncle Holden's coming over later, right? Wouldn't it be nice if we made him some cookies?"

Again, he receives no answer, but the crease in his forehead has Bill wondering if Brian is aware that he has no idea what he's doing.

"I know you've helped your mom a few times. Do you think you can help me make some?"

Brian finally nods and they both retreat from the table and into the kitchen. He grabs the bag of chocolate chips he'd purchased with the recipe on the back and digs out the ingredients listed along with a couple of bowls and a baking sheet, feeling incredibly lucky that Holden had taken to restocking the kitchen with essentials over the last few months.

"Okay, Bud, do you want to do the flour or the butter first?" he asks, looking down at his son. Brian points to the softened butter and Bill slides it towards him as he consults the recipe. "This says we need a cup of that." Frowning, Bill looks at the sticks of butter and then back to the recipe. It doesn't tell him how many sticks are in a cup. Consulting the wrapping on the butter itself doesn't yield any more insights. Off to a great start then. Guessing, he thinks one cup can't possibly be more than one stick, so he tells Brian to add one stick and sets the rest of them aside. Next comes the sugars, which get creamed together with the butter, followed by the eggs and vanilla. All that done smoothly, aside from a few wayward eggshells that he has to fish out of the mixture, they move onto the flour. Bill opens the bag carefully and sets it in front of Brian with a measuring cup. He helps him with the scoops, counting the number of them out loud until they reach the two and a half cups the recipe calls for.

Bill grabs the hand mixer, inserting the beaters into their slots and plugging it in. He sets it into the bowl gently, letting Brian grab onto the handle with him as he flips it on. Flour immediately flies into the air and their faces, raining down on them in a cheap imitation of the snow outside. Brian jumps backwards, his shoulder bumping into Bill's arm and sending both the bowl and mixer skidding across the counter. He blinks up at Bill in bewilderment.

"You okay?" Bill asks, hand swiping gently at the flour coating his hair, sending another mini-cloud into the air. Brian nods and pats at his once green shirt, now streaked with white.

"Let's try that again, huh?" Another nod and Bill gathers the bowl, dumping the rest of the mixture into the trash and starting anew. He mixes the flour in slower this time and they manage to incorporate it without further incident before stirring in the chocolate chips. They roll out little balls of the dough, setting them onto the greased pan which Bill then puts into the oven. Bill feels good about his plan until the timer goes off and he opens the door to thin crisps of cooked dough, the chocolate chips standing out like little black skyscrapers in a brown valley.

The next two batches don't fare much better and Bill's almost ready to give up until the fourth batch comes out of the oven actually resembling the cookies he'd intended them to. Setting them off to the side to cool, Bill turns, ushering Brian off the stool and sending him scampering away to change.

"Quickly, Bri. Holden's going to be here any minute," he says and watches Brian take off down the hallway towards the bathroom. Bill casts an exasperated glance around the kitchen. How can such a simple task result in such a mess? Flour is still spread across the counter and the floor from the earlier mishap, lumps of butter muddled into it. Eggshells are piled in the sink with clumps of uncooked dough from where they'd washed their hands after each batch, on top of which sits a towering stack of bowls all caked in even more dough. He's just debating on how he's going to tackle the cleaning when he hears the front door open and Holden's bright greeting floats into the kitchen.

Panicking just slightly, he wipes at the mess on his shirt in a futile effort to at least look presentable, only managing to smear the dried remnants of dough he's accumulated on himself before Holden turns the corner and stops dead, mouth dropping open in surprise.

"What happened here?" he asks, doing a sweep of the space with his eyes before they settle on Bill.

"We made you cookies."

"We? Where's the other baker?" Bill starts to answer, but is interrupted by the exuberant voice of his child.

"Uncle Holden!" Brian exclaims as he rounds the corner from the hallway in a dead sprint. Holden turns and drops to one knee, catching him in a hug and pulling him in close.

"Are you supposed to be running in the house, Bri?" he asks, pulling back and running his hands down Brian's arms, smoothing down the shirt he's wearing. Brian shakes his head, looking down and Holden can't help but capitulate to the soured expression.

"Did you help make cookies?" Nodding, Brian points to the baking sheet on the counter with a proud grin. Holden looks over at it warily.

"Mmm, those look great, Buddy." He lifts a hand to tug at a strand of Brian's hair gently, his tone adopting a teasing quality. "Looks like you missed some flour there, Bri. You might want to get that before your mom gets here."

Gasping, Brian's little hand flies to his hair as if to hide the evidence as he turns and takes off back down the hallway. Holden watches him go fondly before standing and crossing the room to Bill, who watched the exchange with tenderness in his eyes.

"He's so open with you," he says wistfully, turning to lean a hip against the counter as Holden sidles up to him.

"That's because he knows I'll do whatever he asks," Holden says, leaning up to brush a kiss to the corner of Bill's mouth in greeting. "He knows he can't wheedle you into playing the distressed damsel to his white knight. Still, there's no need for jealousy, he adores you." Eyeing the cookies Brian had pointed out earlier, he notes that they don't seem as though there's anything wrong with them.

"So tell me about these," he says, reaching out to slide the baking tray closer and poking one experimentally.

"What's to tell? I just wanted to do something to surprise you."

"Oh, I am definitely surprised."

"So you admit that I'm not totally helpless in the kitchen?"

Holden glances around the space pointedly, eyes wide in disbelief. "Let's not get crazy just yet, hmm?"

"Rude," Bill says, swatting him gently on the backside as Holden turns back to the cookies. He selects the smallest one and breaks it in half, handing one piece of it to Bill and sniffing the other.

"Well, they certainly smell like chocolate chip cookies," he remarks, looking up into Bill's unimpressed face.

"Just eat the damn cookie, Holden."

He does so, raising the piece up in a salute before taking a bite, watching as Bill does the same. The flavor of chocolate bursts over his tongue, followed by the unpleasant tang of too much sodium. He grimaces through his chewing, swallowing quickly to end the experience.

"Mmm," he says, swallowing again in an attempt to get rid of the taste. "Delicious."

"Oh, shut up," Bill says, taking the rest of the cookie from him and tossing both pieces back on the baking tray. "You're an awful liar."

Holden laughs, feeling slightly bad about his reaction when he sees the dejection on Bill's face. He glances behind him to make sure Brian hasn't re-emerged before crowding into Bill's space and wrapping his arms around him.

"It was a sweet gesture," he says, tucking his head under Bill's chin, trying very hard to ignore the mess he's probably transferring to his own clothes. It’s a good thing he has spares. "I appreciate you wanting to do that for me."

"Well, you're worth the expansion of my skill set."

Holden tilts his head up into another quick kiss before stepping back, his hands moving to settle on Bill's hips.

"Your skill set is just fine. In fact, I can think of a few skills you can dust off tonight."

"Oh, yeah?" Bill asks, leering suggestively.

"Mm hmm. I think your cleaning skills are definitely getting a tuneup tonight. Because this?" he says, making a sweeping gesture throughout the kitchen as he backs away. "I'm not touching this."

Laughing, he dodges the hand towel Bill throws at him and goes to check on Brian, leaving Bill to his work.


	4. Cozy

Holden had finally let himself into the house on the fifth night of Bill's absence. He'd been called out to Colorado Springs to help with a series of increasingly violent natured notes the police had received over the course of a couple months. Ramped complaints from citizens and missing pets flyers going up almost daily had led to them eventually gut-checking their instincts and sending copies into the Bureau for help.

Bill had offered to go out there, more excited at the prospect of reconnecting with an old army buddy in the area than the actual case. Holden thought the idea was great, especially if it meant he wasn't traveling so soon after he'd gotten home from his own consultation the week prior. Bill had maintained right up until he left that Holden should feel free to stay at the house, but Holden had stuck by his stance that it would be weird if he was there while Bill wasn't.

"Why would it be weird?" Bill had asked as Holden helped him pack the night before his departure. Holden just sighed, smoothing down the folds of the shirts he's stacking for the trip.

"Because it's your house and while I enjoy being here with you, I don't think that extends to staying here while you're gone. What would I even do?" He grabs another shirt and pulls it towards him, shaking it out to try and deter wrinkles from setting into the fabric.

"Do whatever you'd do at your apartment. Watch TV, bring some books over, cook, clean-"

"Oh, I see. You think if I stay here by myself for any extended time I'm going to clean up your messes."

Sighing, Bill turns from his spot beside Holden and takes the shirt from his hands, tossing it on the bed despite Holden's protests.

"Bill the wrinkles," Holden complains, reaching for the shirt again. His hands get caught up in Bill's, who squeezes reassuringly.

"Leave it, I'll iron the shirt when I get there. Look at me." He waits for Holden to focus on him, letting go of his hands to reach up and frame his face. "Holden, this is not a ploy to get you to clean my house. Stop making that face," he says in response to Holden's dubiously raised eyebrows. "It isn't. This is me wanting you to be comfortable here with or without me."

"I know that."

"Good, I'm glad. I also know things, like how you still think of this as Nancy's house." Holden shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flicking off to the side for a moment. "Hey, I understand. I look around here and I still see her too, but just because this house holds a lot of memories of her doesn't mean it hasn't got the room for you as well." He pulls Holden forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead before tucking him in close, arms wrapping securely around his shoulders.

"I want my boyfriend to be here, whenever he wants to be here, okay?" he asks. Feeling Holden's confirming nod under his chin, he grins mischievously. "Besides, it's just for now. One day we'll have a place of our own."

"Too soon. It is too soon for this conversation," Holden mumbles into his chest as he shakes his head in an effort to get Bill to stop. He doesn't, just raises his voice a bit to speak over him. "Maybe a house or a condominium. Oh, or an apartment where I don't have to worry about yard work."

"You would hate not being able to have a grill."

"I would. You're right. My point is that there will come a day, a day far into the future, when we will make that decision together." He leans back to look Holden in the eye again. Choosing to ignore the muttered, "I don't think it has to be far," he plows on.

"Nancy isn't here anymore and she's not coming back. I don't want her to. So if that's what's got you so anxious about being here without me then I need you to stop worrying about it, alright? I'm not asking you to move in, but you have a key for a reason and I just think you should consider using it more."

Holden nods, a slight smile curling at the corners of his mouth as he steps back into Bill's embrace.

"I'll think about it," he says, leaning up into a kiss before hastening to add, "I make no promises, but I will think about it."

And he did. He thought about it that night, and the next morning after seeing Bill off to the airport. He'd thought about it all through the last few days after Bill had called on Tuesday to say the investigation had ramped up and he'd be staying longer. He especially thought about it as he laid in his bed, curled in the center around the pillow Bill usually used. He thought about it until he couldn't think about anything else and that's when he decided he was being ridiculous.

Irritated at his own inability to settle, he throws the covers back and rolls out of bed. He doesn't bother to put his day clothes back on, just throws on a sweater over his sweats before packing a small bag for the weekend and heading out.

Which brings him to now, standing in the entryway of the empty house with his shoes already stashed in the closet and setting his keys onto the small table he'd helped Bill pick out. He's still for a moment, bag hanging in a loose fist at his side as he lets the darkness of the interior wash over him. It feels oppressive, as if he's invading a space not meant for him and the shadows are there to stand guard.

He shifts, pushing the feeling aside and striding towards the hallway, his steps cushioned by the thick carpet under his feet. He reaches Bill's room and pauses again, feeling like an intruder once more. This isn't his space, he thinks, before reminding himself that Bill wants him here. Had told him expressly how much he wanted him to be here. So he ignores the little voice in the back of his head telling him to leave and opens the door, closing it decisively behind him.

He leaves his bag by the door and pads over to the bed, running a hand over the soft material of the duvet. This isn't the first time he's been in this bed; isn't even the first time he's been in this bed  _ alone,  _ but then he's always been aware of Bill in the attached bathroom or down the hall in the kitchen. Now he's halfway across the country and Holden is truly by himself here.

Perhaps that's the crux of his problem, he thinks as he climbs up onto the bed, settling on his right side with an arm tucked under his head. He extends his left arm to the empty space beside him, his eyes following the path of his hand as he sweeps it across the pillow and then down the length mattress usually occupied by Bill's slumbering form. He's become accustomed to not sleeping alone, especially in this house and especially in this bed. Sighing, he tells himself to get used to it, that one day they may very well be living together when Bill has to go out-of-town and this will become his norm.

Spine tingling with anticipation, Holden reaches up to grab Bill's pillow, bringing it close and pressing his face to the cool fabric. He breathes in deeply and lets the lingering minty scent of Bill's shampoo comfort him, his eyes closing slowly as he's finally lulled into a deep sleep.

He wakes the next day refreshed, more well-rested than he has that entire week and decides that he isn't going to let the remaining essence of Nancy or his own lingering insecurities haunt him. Making a mental list in his head, he decides that Bill is going to come back to a house that feels like a home even if it won't always be theirs. Excited, he scurries out of bed with ideas of decorations and desserts flying around in his head.

\---

Bill welcomes the rough jolt of the plane hitting the tarmac, happy to finally be back in Virginia after what ended up being a more stressful consultation than he'd been anticipating. He's glad the police in Colorado Springs called them in when they did, as the situation deteriorated rapidly not long after he'd arrived. They'd managed to get in under control though, without any loss of life at that, which Bill thinks might be their greatest achievement to date.

Glancing out of the window, he takes in the early morning Dulles skyline as he waits for the plane to taxi to the gate. Once able to stand, he tries to shake the sleep from his limbs before grabbing his bag and stepping off the plane, the hour drive between the airport and home looming ahead of him. Thankfully, there's still a coffee stand open as he makes his way through the airport and he grabs a cup before heading into the parking garage and his car.

A little over two hours later, thanks largely in part to the overnight construction on the interstate, he pulls into his driveway with a low hum of pleasure. Exhaustion heavy in his bones, he doesn't even notice Holden's car at first as he focuses on grabbing his bag and getting in the house. In fact, it isn't even until he sets his keys down in the entryway that he realizes his boyfriend is there and he ducks his head back out of the door just to double check.

Excitement spurring him on, he starts to head down the hallway before a gleam of light catches his eye and he turns toward the living room. Stepping slowly into the space, he stops to let his eyes adjust to the soft glow of a lighted garland hanging over the doorway and draped along the fireplace. Standing there, he can notice some other subtle changes to the room as well; pictures of he and Brian framed and hung above the television and a mirror placed delicately against the wall above the mantle. It looks homey for the first time in a long time. Warm and cozy. He wonders what other surprises the morning light will bring.

Bill looks away from the new additions to the room and to Holden laying spread out on the couch. A well-worn copy of Golding’s  _ Lord of the Flies _ lays open against his chest and the readers he doesn’t think Bill knows about are sliding down his nose. He's got thick socks on his feet, pale blue sleep pants riding low on his hips and an oversized white sweater that Bill recognizes from his own closet layered over top. One hand rests across his stomach, only just keeping the book balanced while the other dangles down toward the carpet. It's clear he's fallen asleep reading, probably too engrossed in the book to realize just how tired he is until it's too late.

Smiling indulgently and forgetting about his own need for sleep, Bill crouches down beside the couch and gently takes the glasses from Holden's face, folding them and setting them on the coffee table. The book joins soon after. He picks up the arm dangling off of the side of the couch and slips a hand under the loose fabric at the wrist, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the pulse point there.

"Holden," he says, trying to rouse him. As adorable as he looks, Bill can't leave him to sleep on the couch when there's a perfectly decent bed just down the hall. He gets no response, so he brings one of his hands up to card through Holden's hair, hoping the dueling sensations plus his voice will be enough this time.

"Holden, come on, you can't sleep out here." It takes him a few more rounds and a reluctant shake of one shoulder before Bill gets any kind of reaction. Holden stretches, a low whine sounding from deep in his throat at the disturbance before he finally cracks his eyes open to look up at Bill blearily.

"Mmm.. Bill?” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.

"Hi. You fell asleep on the couch."

"I did? What time is it?" he asks through a yawn, pulling his hand from Bill's grasp to bring both of them up to rub at his eyes.

"Almost four on Sunday morning," Bill answers, his heart warming with affection at the almost childlike actions Holden's exhibiting.

He casts a glance back to the newly hung photos. “You’ve been busy,” he says, quirking a questioning eyebrow at him. 

Dropping his hands back down to his chest, Holden turns on his side, pressing into the back of the couch to give Bill room to sit with him. He gazes up at him through heavy blinks, still trying to pull himself from the throes of sleep.

“Do you like it?” he asks softly. Rising to settle on the edge of a cushion, Bill nods at him, his fingers returning to Holden’s hair to wind through the fine strands. 

“I do. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I thought it would make the time go by faster,” he mumbles through another yawn. “It didn’t work.”

“I’m sorry.” A whisper. “I noticed you didn’t put a tree up.” 

“No,” Holden breathes out, his eyes drifting closed again. “I thought you’d want to do that with Brian.”

Bill continues to look down at him, the warmth in his chest expanding at the thought Holden put into his endeavor. He thinks back to the early years of their partnership, when he’d judged Holden’s indifferent exterior as a lack of care for those around him, rather than the defense mechanism he now knew it to be. Once he’d pushed the harsh view of his partner aside, he’d been able to see the cracks in Holden’s foundation growing wider with every backhanded comment flung his way. Guilt churns in his gut as he thinks about the time before he’d gotten his head out of his ass and worked to build their friendship back up from the dredges of the gutter where it had fallen after Atlanta. Back when he’d intentionally left Holden out of dinner invitations and rounds of drinks after a long week; instead sending him home to spend those evenings alone in an apartment that he’s fully aware now houses only scant personal effects outside of the holiday season. He thinks idly that he still has a lot of apologizing to do. 

“Hey,” he says softly, his fingers moving to trace over the smooth skin of Holden’s temple. “You can’t sleep here, sweetheart. Come to bed.”

Holden whines again but let's Bill stand and pull him into a sitting position anyways. He swings his legs onto the floor slowly and turns his body fully upright to face Bill before leaning forward to rest his forehead into the strong chest in front of him.

"I missed you," he says into the jacket Bill's still wearing, his breath seeping through the fabric to warm the skin underneath. Bill rubs a hand down his back soothingly before returning the sentiment.

"I missed you, too. Come on, we can sleep in tomorrow," he cajoles, pushing Holden back slightly. He pulls his boyfriend up to stand with him, wrapping an arm securely around his waist to lead him down the hall and into the bedroom where he deposits him gently onto the bed while he strips down to his briefs.

Turning back to the bed he sees Holden has managed to pull himself under the duvet and has passed out again, his breath whistling along the sheets where he has his head buried half under his pillow.

Bill joins him, pulling at his curled limbs to spoon up behind him and press his face into the mussed curls on the back of his head. As he drifts off into his own well-earned slumber, he thinks fleetingly that he could learn to love coming home to this.


	5. Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving morning finds Holden seated at his dining table with the newspaper spread out in front of him and a mug of fresh coffee in hand. The TV is on low, Bryant Gumbel's description of the new Betty Boop float droning on in the background. He's got the after-Thanksgiving ads separated from the actual news already, set off to the side to peruse once he's finished his morning reading. Although he doesn't see the appeal of going out the Friday following Thanksgiving, he's noticed that the notion of doing so has gained popularity recently and since he happens to have tomorrow off as well, he figures he might as well see if he can find some deals and get ahead on his shopping. Besides, looking through the ads will distract him from the fact that he isn't cooking like he should be.

This being their first Thanksgiving together, Bill had decided that they should purchase their meal and even Holden's arguments about just how wrong he found that idea to be couldn't get him to back down from his reasoning.

"Holden, there is no point for you to have to cook two large meals this season and don't," he'd continued, blocking Holden's attempt to interrupt, "tell me that you aren't going to go all out on Christmas Day."

"Eve. Christmas Day gets breakfast."

"Eve." he'd corrected, resting his hands on Holden's shoulders. "I know you too well to think otherwise."

"There is a literal month in between the two meals and it isn't like this is the first time I've done it. I always helped as a kid."

"Helping is not undertaking the entire thing. I've seen how stressful it is first hand, remember? Let's just take it easy this year. Work up to it."

"Fine," Holden relented, pouting. "I'm still making a pie though."

Holden had glared petulantly at him for the rest of the afternoon, but Bill stayed firm and now Holden was left to waste time until he could leave to head over to the house. 

Setting the last section of paper on the stack, he moves it out of the way before getting up to grab a pad of paper and pen; if he’s going to tackle the stores in the morning he knows he’ll need a solid plan in order to do so. He settles back into his chair, one leg tucked comfortably underneath him and draws the larger than usual stack of ads towards him, seizing the one on top and writing the name of the store and hours on the paper before flipping it open to leaf through. As he does so, he makes note of the items he has even the slightest interest in, jotting down the price of those as well and then moving on to the next ad. It takes him longer than it probably should, but he eventually finishes the stack and stands to stretch, grabbing his now empty mug to refill. Noting that he still has a few hours before he has to put the pie in the oven, he ambles back to the table to turn his notes into something legible, placing the more prized items and stores at the top and devising a plan from there. He spends entirely too much time trying to figure out what time he needs to leave in the morning, going back and forth between thinking earlier is better and then chastising himself for that. The stores can’t possibly be as crowded as he’s imagining them being. 

Putting the pad and pen aside and making a mental note to put them in his bag before leaving, Holden glances at the clock and decides it's late enough to get the pie going and heads to the kitchen. He gathers the pre-cooked apples, flour, and dough from the fridge, placing them on the counter before retrieving his pie plate.

Once the dessert is in the oven, he wipes down the residual flour from his counter and puts the few bowls he'd used in the sink to soak before he heads down the hall to shower and change, emerging from his room with his in undershirt and jeans, hair still dripping as the timer sounds. Pulling it quickly from the oven, Holden places the plate on a trivet and pulls a mitt off to tap lightly at the crust, pleased at the crispness of it. He leaves it to cool and double checks that he's turned the oven off before heading back to his room to finish getting ready.

Forgoing his instinct to grab a dress shirt, he instead shuffles through the more casual options in the back of his closet, eventually choosing a soft, deep red tee that he knows will go well with the dark wash denim he's already got on. He already feels under-dressed even though he knows they have no plans to go out and will probably end up spending most of the night on the couch. _At least Bill will appreciate it_ , he thinks, ending his internal debate before he runs out of time and ends up being late.

There’s very little traffic on the drive, most families still gathered around tables groaning under the weight of home-cooked meals. Bill greets him with a smile and a kiss as he enters, barely letting him get through the door before he’s grabbing the lapels of his coat and reeling him in. He goes willingly, laughing softly as he does so. 

"Hi," he says, leaning into the onslaught.

"Hello. Did you have a good day?"

"You’ve already heard my complaints so I’m just going to say yes and that it’s better now."

"Are we being sappy tonight?"

Laughing again, Holden pulls back from the embrace and drops his overnight bag from his shoulder. "It's a holiday, we deserve to have some sap."

Bill takes the pie from Holden, who through a great deal of maneuvering has managed to keep it safe from Bill’s antics, and brings it up to his face, inhaling deeply. "I'll allow it," he says. "But only because this smells amazing."

Leaving Holden to hang up his coat and put his shoes away, Bill carries the pie into the kitchen to set on the counter for later. He leans down to take another whiff of the dessert, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg comforting in their warmth. He straightens and turns to see Holden silhouetted in the doorway, arms crossed against his broad chest as he leans casually against the jamb. Bill lets his eyes wander over him, taking in the natural curl of his hair and the stretch of the tee over his shoulders, all the way down the way his jeans fit snugly over well-toned thighs.

"You look nice," he compliments, watching Holden bite back a smile as a blush rises to color his cheeks.

"Thank you. I am trying to step out of my comfort zone." Holden steps fully into the kitchen, his arms dropping to hang loosely at his sides as he approaches.

"I can see that," Bill says. He leans back against the counter as Holden reaches him, hands framing his boyfriend's hips as Holden's come up to rest against his chest. "You're a bit uncomfortable in this, aren't you?"

"Yes. But.. it's just you and I tonight so I figured it was a good time to branch out."

"Smart thinking," Bill says, slipping his hands from Holden's waist to cup his ass through his jeans. "We don't need anyone else to see how well you fill these out."

The blush rises faster and more vibrantly this time, Holden ducking his head in embarrassment at the compliment. He clears his throat to regain a modicum of composure before meeting Bill's eyes again, opening his mouth to reply and finding he has no response. Bill's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a grin slowly forming on his face at the discovery that he's rendered Holden speechless.

"You've got nothing, huh?" he asks teasingly.

"I.. no. I don't. How do I respond to that?"

Bill can tell he's still flustered and takes pity on him, easing his grip as he presses a lingering kiss to his lips.

"Don't worry. I'll get you taking compliments like a champ in no time."

"Are we sure it wasn't a come on?"

Laughing, Bill pushes him back a half step and eases away from the counter before taking his hand to lead him towards the dining room and their meal.

"Nothing says it can’t be both."

As predicted, they settle onto the couch after eating, each with a fresh glass of wine and slice of pie. Balancing his plate on one knee, Holden watches amusedly as Bill moans almost obscenely around his first bite.

"Dear God, this is the greatest thing I've ever put in my mouth."

Chuckling, Holden spears a bite on his own fork and pops it into his mouth. "Should I be offended?" he asks, chewing thoughtfully.

"You should be worried. I might have to leave you for this pie."

"I'd rethink that if I were you. Without me there is no pie."

"Guess I'm stuck with you then."

"Oh, no. However shall you cope," Holden replies, deadpan. He finishes off his slice, setting his empty plate on the coffee table and grabbing his glass of wine. He settles back into the cushion, folding his legs underneath him comfortably and watching Bill all but lick at the crumbs on his own plate.

"Bill, there's more pie," he laughs.

Caught, Bill lowers the plate guiltily before sighing and leaning forward to set it on top of Holden's. Sitting back with his own glass, he holds an arm out in invitation. Carefully, so as to not spill, Holden crosses the space between them and tucks in close to Bill's side.

"You want to see if there's any movies on?"

"Movies?" Holden asks in surprise. "I thought you'd want to watch football. Aren't the Cowboys playing?" Mirrored surprise meets his own, Bill regarding him with a hint of pride.

"Look at you knowing who's playing today."

"First of all, I'm learning, okay? Secondly, it's Thanksgiving. Don't the Cowboys always play on Thanksgiving?"

"They do," Bill says. "I just didn't expect you to know that."

"I grew up in the Midwest, Bill, not on Mars. Football is a pretty big deal around there."

"I know that."

"It's not like I don't know anything just because I don't watch it every week. It's not hard to learn the rules."

"Uh huh," Bill says, waiting. He lets Holden stew in his disbelief, watching the ire rise in his expression before it eventually overflows.

"What? It isn't!" He sits up, dislodging the arm wrapped around his shoulders, to face Bill head on in challenge. They stare at each other, Bill's amusement growing at the ongoing frustration in Holden's eyes.

"Who wants to watch grown men tackle each other anyways? And for what? A twelve inch piece of leather?"

"Eleven inches."

"What?" Holden asks, confused.

"A football is eleven inches and it's four pieces of leather."

"Why do you know that?"

Bill shrugs. "I like football."

Nodding slowly, Holden calms and settles back into Bill's side after finishing off his glass of wine. "Fine," he says once he's comfortable, Bill's arm once again wrapped securely around him. "Let's watch grown men tackle each other."

Dallas wins, handing the Patriots their first loss on Thanksgiving. Bill turns the TV off and sets the remote aside before looking down at his boyfriend. Holden had tried, but in the end he'd grown weary of the game and had gotten up to grab a book, laying down with his head pooled in Bill's lap upon his return. He looks up as he registers the now silent air in the room, immediately locking eyes with Bill, face warming at the fondness found within them.

"Did they win?" he asks softly.

Bill nods, taking the book from him and putting it next to the remote before bringing his hand back down to card through Holden's hair.

"I remembered something we forgot about today," he says.

"What's that?"

"We didn't say what we were thankful for."

"Oh," Holden says. He reaches up for the hand in his hair, bringing it down to rest against his chest, playing with the fingers gently. "That's an easy one."

"Is it?" Bill asks curiously.

"Of course. I'm thankful you took another chance with me. Even if maybe at the time you only meant to rebuild our working relationship."

"I don't think I deserve that," Bill says, a frown tugging ruefully at his mouth.

Holden rushes to reassure him. "Of course you do,” he insists, a misty sheen just starting to creep into his eyes. He breaks his gaze away, staring down at the fingers wrapped securely around his own now. "I didn’t think things would get better. Not after Atlanta." He swallows thickly around the emotions gathering in his throat. “But then you reached out and I so desperately wanted it to be real that I ignored everything in me saying it was a trick.”

Bill looks down at him in silence, letting Holden work through his thoughts. It’s a topic they circle back to from time to time, working through their thoughts and feelings surrounding the months spent by a river in the heat of Georgia and the year that followed. Bill’s ashamed of his actions concerning his partner at that time. It wasn’t how you worked with someone, especially not someone who deserved at the very least a shred of professional respect. “You were going to transfer,” he says after a moment and Holden freezes, breath catching in his throat. Bill rubs soothingly at his chest, encouraging the hitched breaths to even out again.

“You know about that?”

"Yeah," Bill says, his own voice rough with regret now. "I saw the form on your desk one day when I was looking for a file. I never told you that, but uh- it was a bit of wake up call. I don’t think I realized how badly we’d been treating you until then.”

Questions he’s wanted to ask for years burst forth in Holden’s mind; hurt he’d long thought buried igniting in his chest. He wants to know why they thought it was okay to exclude him, how little trust they held for him that they decided keeping him out of the loop was the best option. He wants to rant that he wouldn’t have made such a fool of himself if he’d just known about Bill’s troubles like Wendy did. Wants to scream that it isn’t fair that he was ridiculed for a condition he can’t help and was made to feel less than because of it, and in public no less. 

As abruptly as the emotions rise in him, they ebb. One day soon, they’ll have to have that full conversation, but as Holden sweeps his gaze around Bill’s living room, eyes catching on the dregs of alcohol in empty glasses and crumb coated plates, he knows that it also wouldn’t be fair to have it now.

“That was a lot of emotions,” Bill comments, having watched the flickering expressions crossing his lover’s face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Flushing at how easily he’s been read, Holden shakes his head decisively. “No. Not tonight.”

“You shouldn’t let bad feelings fester.”

“They’ve already festered, there’s no going back on that, but I’m not going to let my bad feelings ruin tonight for us.”

Bill detangles his hand from Holden's and slips his fingers under his chin, nudging his head up to look him in the eyes again. "Are you sure? We’ve put off having a proper discussion about things for a long time."

“I am and we’ll have that talk, but not tonight. Instead, I’m going to reiterate that I am thankful for second chances and then I’m going to go and get us more pie.”

Still rubbing soothing circles into Holden’s chest, Bill searches Holden’s eyes in an attempt to dissect the truth behind his words. How is it so easy for him to push hurt aside and go on like normal? How much hurt has he missed over the years because of Holden’s ability to do that? Silently, he agrees to table it for now, trusting Holden to make the right decision for himself. “You’re too forgiving for your own good,” he says, voice a little more than a murmur as he slides his fingers up until he's cupping Holden's cheek, thumb stroking the thin skin there. Holden smiles a little self-deprecatingly and pushes himself up to meet him halfway in a slow, sweet kiss.

“You’re complaining?” he asks after settling again.

“Not even a little bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My feelings remain very mixed with this installment.


	6. Skating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! Just in case you notice, I did change the chapter total on this because my schedule has gotten really funky lately and I don't want to keep promising 26 chapters if I'm not sure I can get them all done. That's definitely still the goal though!

_I can't believe I let them talk me into this_ , Bill thinks as he finishes lacing up the rented skates he's somehow shoved his feet into. To his left, Holden is doing up his own laces, a carefree grin adorning his face as he talks quietly with Jim while Gregg helps his daughters get their own skates on. Wendy, on her own for the night, has finished before any of them and now leans casually against the wall surrounding the ice rink, patiently waiting for the rest of the team to finish getting ready.

"How did I let you trick me into coming here?" he asks Holden under his breath when Jim's attention is turned to his wife. Holden glances around them, making sure no one is paying them any mind before leaning in close.

"I promised to let you do unspeakable things to me tonight if you did," he whispers in Bill's ear, winking as he pulls back to stand. Bill watches him make his way over to Wendy, mouth agape as heat rises quickly up his neck and into his cheeks.

"What'd you say to him?" Wendy asks Holden, amusement clear in her voice. Leaning onto the wall beside her, Holden looks back at Bill, failing to suppress his smirk at the shocked look on his face.

"I just reminded him why he agreed to come skating with us," he says, turning to face her innocently. Wendy, privy to the exact nature of their relationship, had demanded that he and Bill join her and Kay for dinner one night. It began a new routine, the four of them now meeting up twice a month for dinner and drinks.

"That face doesn't work on me, Holden," she says, waving a hand at his expression.

He laughs, shrugging. "It was worth a shot."

Gregg and his girls are the first out on the ice, followed by Wendy and then Jim and his family, all before Bill even attempts to stand on his skates. He immediately holds his arms out to his sides, balancing precariously on the thin blades as he shuffles over to Holden and grabbing the wall tightly once he's there.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," Holden says, eyebrows raised in delight at the display.

"Shut up," Bill shoots back, glaring at him and the ice itself in turn. "This is a disaster already."

"It is not," Holden says, stepping out on the ice and holding out a hand to help Bill balance as he moves to follow him. Bill doesn't take it, just keeps an ironclad grip on the wall as they start their way around the oval. He straightens as he starts to gain confidence, earning himself a proud smile from Holden.

"There, see? We'll have you racing Jim in no time."

"Don't get carried away," Bill retorts, tightening his grip as one of Gregg's daughters races past them, the agent not far behind. He takes a little bit of pleasure in noting that he isn't the only one struggling as they catch up to Jim and his wife, Beverly, the both of them attempting to use the other for support. "Although based on how he's doing, I'd probably beat him."

"I'd kick your ass, Bill," Jim shoots back teasingly, overhearing the dig. He looks up from his feet for a moment, amusement sparking in his eyes. It quickly turns to panic as he loses control of his precious balance, sending both he and Beverly sprawling.

"Ha!" Bill crows triumphantly. "That's what you get for talking shit, Barney." Holden shakes his head at the childlike behavior from the two of them and goes to help Beverly find her feet again, then leaves her to deal with her husband.

"Maybe don't get too excited when your own balance is so precarious," he says, coming back around to Bill's side to skate alongside him.

"You were just telling me I'd be racing in no time. Don't bring me down now."

"Oh, okay then," Holden replies, turning to glide backwards so he can look Bill in the face. "So then you'll have no problem catching up to me." He grins, turning and taking off to catch up to Wendy, laughing at the "Show-off!" Bill shouts after him.

He's still chuckling when he reaches her and holds out an arm for her to latch on to should she want to. She smiles gratefully at him and does so, linking her elbow through his as he shortens his strides to match hers.

"Are the children not behaving?" she asks.

"Not even a little bit."

"I had hoped we'd skip the typical show of dominance for this outing."

"I may have egged it on a bit," he admits, holding his free hand up in surrender when she tsks at him disapprovingly. They make their way around the rink, keeping an eye on the actual children out of reach of their parents and carefully dodging the still delicately traveling trio of adults.

"I do have to admit," Wendy comments after a couple of laps. "I didn't think you'd be this adept at skating."

"I grew up in Wisconsin. It came with the territory," he says, thinking back to the yearly field trips his elementary school class would take to the rink in Milwaukee. "When did you learn to skate?"

"Also as a child," she answers. "We would go every year on Christmas Eve, a tradition that has sadly fallen to the wayside as I've gotten older."

Holden looks around the rink, taking stock of their group from between the throngs of teenagers racing each other and older couples slowly picking their way around the rink.

"We could always make this a yearly occurrence," he suggests when he looks back at her. "Maybe even be able to write it off as a team building exercise."

"Oh, I doubt that," she retorts as they turn the corner again to see Jim and Bill tangled together on the ice. Beverly clings to the wall, pointing a finger down at them in admonishment. "I believe that is the opposite of team building."

Gregg pauses beside them, his girls trailing behind him slowly after getting rid of their excess energy.

"Everything okay?" he asks, eyeing the two agents still sprawled on the ice.

"I'm sure," Holden answers, glancing at him. "But it may be time for hot chocolate."

"I agree," Wendy says. "Do you three mind getting a table while Holden and I go and figure out what that's all about?" Gregg agrees readily and takes each daughter by the hand to lead them off the ice and over to the picnic tables set up to the side of the concession stand, scoping out a place to sit.

They make their way over to the scene, Wendy offering a hand to Beverly to lead her off the ice as she calls for her kids to join them. Holden stands over the other two, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What happened here?" he asks, looking from one agent to the next.

"He pulled me down," Jim says, disgruntled.

"I did not pull you down. I tried to go around you and put my hand on your shoulder for balance. It's not my fault you lost yours."

"I never had my balance!"

"It's very big of you to admit that, Jim. I'm so proud," Bill retorts, turning over to get to his knees. Holden watches the exchange in exasperation. Maybe making this an annual event isn't a great idea.

"Are you two done?" he asks, not bothering to wait for a response as he bends to grab under Bill's arm and haul him up. He waits for him to brace both hands on the wall before doing the same with Jim before skating back towards the opening with them inching their way along the wall, the whole process taking twice as long as it should have.

They finally make it out to the table, cups of hot chocolate already waiting for them as they take their seats and bend to remove their skates. Bill tosses his away with a scowl, earning an eye roll from Holden as he goes to retrieve them and return them to the rental window.

He settles back onto the bench next to Bill, reaching out to take a long sip of his drink, the hot liquid warming him immensely. The group chats for a long while until the children grow tired and restless, prompting a departure from the park for all of them. They make their goodbyes on the way to the parking lot, everyone peeling off into separate directions and leaving Bill, Holden, and Wendy walking to where they'd ended up parked next to each other.

"Back to the original trio," Bill remarks, finishing off his second cup and jostling his shoulder into Holden's playfully. "Somehow it always comes back to us."

"Naturally," Wendy comments from Bill's other side, digging into her bag to locate her keys. "No matter the patterns within the study, team dynamics will naturally fall back to the three of us as the core group."

Holden ponders that thoughtfully as they leave Wendy at her car to get into their own, reaching across the seat to thread his fingers through Bill's once they're on their way back to the house. He doesn't notice the glances Bill's sending his way.

"You okay?" he finally asks, giving Holden's hand a squeeze to get his attention?

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You're quiet."

"Oh," Holden says, turning a bit to face Bill and resting his head on his seat back. "I was just thinking."

"So I should be worried," Bill tosses back at him, jokingly.

"Hilarious. No, do you remember what Wendy said? About team dynamics?"

“You think the team needs work?"

“I don't know, maybe? I was telling Wendy earlier that we could try and make this an annual event."

"Absolutely not."

"It doesn't have to be ice skating, but what's the harm in doing more of these outings? Especially if it means we keep this group together as long as possible."

"I think we've got a while before anyone leaves, Holden."

"How do you know?” he asks softly. “The more we expand on this study, the more people are going to be interested in not just the work, but also the agents doing it.”

"You're worried that Gregg is going to get a better offer?" Bill asks dubiously as he pulls into the driveway, putting the car in park and turning in his own seat.

"You have to admit, he's come a long way."

"He has, but why are you so worried about this now?" Bill's hands find Holden's again, his thumbs rubbing soothingly across the backs of his wrists as he holds them. Holden worries his teeth into his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact. "Holden?"

A beat. "I got a job offer."

"What?"

"I'm not going to take it," he rushes to add. "I'm not even entertaining it, but if I'm getting them then how many of the others are too?"

“That's their business, but Holden if they decide they want a change we can't stop them.”

“I just- I really like this group we have now. We work well together.”

“I know,” Bill assures him as Holden finally looks at him. “Would you rather hold them back?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, and as far as we know no one is even thinking of leaving. So can you stop worrying about that and start worrying about my reward for going today?”

“I suppose I did make a lot of promises this morning,” Holden says.

“Yes, you did, and I plan on cashing in every single one.”

Laughing, Holden turns to open the door, hauling himself out of the car. 

“Fine,” he says, grudgingly. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Well, now that’s just rude.”


	7. Movies

“So I have a question for you,” Holden states one night as they’re laying in bed. He’s sprawled out on his stomach, cheek pillowed on his folded arms as his eyes follow the wafting smoke of Bill’s cigarette as it drifts lazily towards the ceiling. 

“Do you now?” Bill says, regarding him a little warily. He has one arm tucked behind his head as the other methodically brings the cigarette back to his lips, burning nicotine surging past his teeth to sear the back of his throat. “Your after sex questions tend to be too analytical for my intellectual capabilities.” 

Holden pouts at the statement, nose wrinkling adorably. Bill wants to reach out and smoothe the fine lines away.

“You just used analytical and intellectual capabilities in the same sentence. I think you’re fine. Besides, it isn’t theoretical this time,” he says, “I have a personal question.”

“Ooh, I’ll take theories for a thousand, if that’s the case.”

“It’s flattering that you think I could compare to Art Fleming.”

“I was thinking of Don Pardo, actually.”

Scoffing, Holden darts a hand out to deliver a playful slap to Bill’s chest, pleased at the surprised jolt that disrupts his lover’s soft laughter. He settles, pushing up to rest his forearms into the mattress, his back arching deliciously in the dim light of the bedroom. Still chuckling, Bill turns toward him to lay on his side, his head propped up on one hand as he reaches the other out to stray ash stained fingers down Holden’s spine, the cigarette held loosely within them. 

“Ask your question,” he says softly, eyes following the line of his fingers. 

“I was just wondering what your holiday traditions were.”

Tearing his gaze away from the goosebumps just starting to raise along the pale skin, his eyes catch on Holden’s curious ones. 

“I thought we had a pretty decent hand on what we do for Christmas?” he asks.

“We do, we definitely do, but a lot of what we do is stuff I brought in from my own childhood. Is there anything you used to do growing up that we don’t? That you’d like to?”

Affection blossoming in his chest, Bill leans forward to brush a kiss to Holden’s temple.

“You’re sweet,” he mumbles against the tender skin there, almost able to feel the blush rising to Holden’s cheeks. 

“And you’re not answering the question.”

“You’re going to have to give me a minute. That was a long time ago.”

Holden settles back into the mattress, once again pillowing his head on his arms as Bill returns to his ministrations. He closes his eyes, relaxing into the soft strokes as he waits for Bill to sort through his memories. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s vaguely aware of Bill reaching over to stub out the end of his cigarette before running his now empty hand down his side as his mouth burns a series of open-mouthed kisses along his spine, teeth just barely grazing along his skin. Holden lets him think the distraction will get him out of answering for a few moments, groaning softly as blunt fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his hip, arching into the touch. 

“Do you have any idea,” Bill breathes into his skin, “what you do to me?” 

“I think so,” he says around a grin. The dull ache of their earlier activities serve as a great reminder of what kind of frenzy he’s capable of sending Bill into. “I also think you’re trying to distract me.”

Bill pauses, the fingers still digging into Holden’s skin flexing as he drops his forehead to rest along a jutting shoulder blade. Closing his eyes, he inhales the lingering scent of sweat and sex with an earthy undertone that’s distinctly Holden. 

“When I was a kid,” he starts, lips lightly brushing the skin beneath him as he speaks. “We didn’t do anything special during the holidays. Nothing outside of the obligatory tree and stockings; a single strand of lights lining the gutters and breakfast before presents on Christmas morning. Dad wasn’t into the frivolous extras that other families fell victim to. His words, not mine.” Holden falls silent as soon as Bill starts talking, still except for the rise and fall of his breathing and the arching of his neck as he turns to look over his shoulder. “It was tame compared to what we do now, but I remember it being nice if a little structured.” 

“Nice is good,” Holden murmurs and Bill shifts to lay facing him again, the hand at Holden’s hip trailing along with him to settle on his stomach. Holden, now free to shift positions himself, turns to mirror him. 

“It was good. I remember Mom loved Christmas movies. There was this theater downtown that showed penny features on Saturdays and every year they’d put on a double of  _ White Christmas _ and  _ Miracle on 34th Street. _ I think I was thirteen when they first came out? Fourteen? I don’t know but every year Mom and I would walk down to the theater, get a soda and some candy and watch the movies. Right up until I got drafted.”

“You didn’t do it after you got back?”

“I went straight into the academy and we never got another chance. They’re gone now. I don’t even think I’ve seen those movies since.”

Reaching out a hand, Holden trails his fingers softly over the lines of Bill’s face; from the crease in his forehead to the laugh lines around his eyes and down to the faint frown on his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes locked onto Bill’s. “I didn’t mean to bring up any bad feelings.”

“You didn’t. They’re good memories.”

“You sure?” 

“I am,” he assures, leaning forward to meet Holden with a reassuring press of lips. “Thank you for asking me; for thinking about it.” 

They settle down for the night, Bill slipping easily into sleep while Holden stares silently up at the ceiling with stubborn ideas weaving in and out of his thoughts. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to when bringing up the conversation, but the problem was going to be incorporating Bill’s fond Christmas memories into their own traditions without being disrespectful. His thoughts still swirling, Holden curls tighter into Bill’s chest and closes his eyes, hoping that if he makes a strong enough effort that maybe the intrusions will find reason to allow him to sleep.

\---

It takes him longer than it should have to come up with a viable plan but he gets there in the end. It’s Sunday and Bill’s out of the house to drop Brian off at Nancy’s. Holden gets the living room set up quickly, then heads into the kitchen to deposit the multitude of snacks he’d bought at the store on Friday night and then subsequently hidden from Bill. He’s just putting the last of the bowls out when he hears the car pull back into the driveway.

He lets out a shuddering breath, nerves fluttering about in his chest as he gives the room a final glance before heading out to meet Bill in the hallway.

“Hey,” he says, leaning a hip against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest; an effort at calming himself as he watches Bill hang up his coat. It doesn’t work. “How’d it go?”

“It was fine. I think he really likes having you here. He wouldn’t stop talking about that snowman you helped him build.”

“Well I’m glad he enjoyed it so much. He’s a really good kid,” he says, pursing his lips against a smile as Bill walks toward him, trying to hold in the surprise as long as possible. The smile grows into a bright grin and Bill stops short, glancing around in confusion.

“What’s this?” he asks, gesturing to the unconcealed amusement on his face.

“Huh?”

“What are you doing?” 

Holden shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“I can tell when you’re up to something. What’s going on?”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Holden drops his arms and steps away from the wall, taking the few steps left between them. He presses in close, tucking his forehead into one shoulder as laughter bubbles out of him. 

“I might have a surprise for you,” he says through a chuckle.

“You might?”

“Yeah,” he says, pressing his face further into Bill’s chest as the nerves reach a crescendo. “But I’m a little nervous about it.” He feels a strong hand cradle the nape of his neck, a thumb stroking gently along his hairline.

“Why are you nervous?” Bill asks softly, craning his neck to look down at Holden. 

“I don’t know. I feel like maybe this time I overstepped a bit.”

“Since when does that bother you?”

“Don’t be mean.”

Letting out a laugh of his own, Bill pulls back from the embrace to look down at him, one hand still cradling the back of his head. 

“Why don’t you just show me?”

Sighing, Holden turns, taking the hand that trails over his shoulder into his own and leading Bill back down into the living room. He stops in the doorway and peers up at Bill as he takes in the scene.

The coffee table has been shoved against the wall and out of the way of the mound of blankets and pillows Holden had accumulated into a nest in front of the couch, bowls of popcorn and a few bags of chips nestled within. The television glows a soft blue, waiting patiently for one of them to press play on the newly purchased VCR Holden had set up earlier. The machine rests on the stand next to the TV, a last minute addition that still looks out-of-place. Next to it, two also newly purchased VHS tapes.

Bill walks forward slowly, looking over the scene carefully as he picks his way through to the other side of the room. He runs a finger over the raised lettering of Bing Crosby’s name, silent. 

Holden fidgets in the doorway, his fingers tapping at his thigh in an anxious rhythm, watching with bated breath as Bill surveys the dimly lit room. 

“It isn’t a theater,” he says softly, drawing Bill’s gaze back towards him. “And if you don’t want to, I can take it all back still. I have the receipts and the box. It’s a lot-”

“Holden,” Bill interrupts and Holden stills, the words stuttering to a stop in his throat. He takes another lingering glance around the room, wondering idly as he scans over the nest on the floor if Holden had managed to find every pillow and blanket they owned before stepping back towards the man in question. He reaches out to tug gently at the lip Holden’s been worrying between his teeth, running a thumb over the indents left behind before trailing the hand up to cup a warm cheek. 

“I think it’s great,” he says. The tension drains from Holden’s shoulders at his words, a delighted gleam brightening his eyes. 

“You do?”

“I do. You worry too much.” 

“I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to replace those memories of your mom,” Holden admits quietly. 

Eyes softening, Bill gazes down at the other man, noting the lingering stress in his shoulders and mist of self-doubt in eyes that barely meet his own. 

“You keep forgetting that I know you. There is no doubt in my mind that you were only trying to include my past in our traditions. And guess what?” he asks, hooking a finger under Holden’s chin to lift his gaze. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, despite how much I know that VCR costs.” Ignoring Holden’s wince at the mention of the expense, he guides him into a kiss and feels his body melt into him as the last of the anxiousness bleeds out of him. Deepening the contact for a moment, he grins at the shudder that runs up Holden’s spine as he grazes his teeth gently along already tender lips. They separate after a long moment, breaths mingling as their foreheads nestle together.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment. 

“Of course.”

Holden guides him back to the blankets, letting him get situated as he walks over to retrieve the tapes, holding them out for Bill’s inspection.    
“So, which one first?”

Sinking into the thick blanket beneath him, with the couch at his back and his legs stretched comfortably out in front, Bill studies the covers presented to him, as well as the almost giddy smile adorning Holden’s face.

“You pick.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr!](https://heyitshamderson.tumblr.com)


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